


One Sided Catastrophe

by bioticsandheadshots



Series: Fictober: 2018 [5]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Confused pining, M/M, Minor Injuries, Unexpected feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-27 08:28:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16215290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bioticsandheadshots/pseuds/bioticsandheadshots
Summary: Fenris must go to Anders for healing and witnesses the softer, selfless side of the mage he's so determined to hate.





	One Sided Catastrophe

**Author's Note:**

> For the Fictober prompt "Take what you need."

It’s been weeks since the mage has been out of the hovel he calls a clinic, though it’s not clear if that is at his own insistence or if Hawke has finally acknowledged the danger he poses. The former, Fenris thinks. Not even their close call in the Gallows dungeon has managed to convince Hawke of the constant, unerring threat that is the abomination.

His absence however, much to Fenris’s consternation, does not negate the necessity for his cursed magic. Without the mage, trips with Hawke are usually bloodier, messier, and require healing that they have to seek out after the fact.

Such is the case today. Hunting for rumored slavers along the Wounded Coast ends with far fewer slavers lurking outside Kirkwall, but more than a few extra gashes Fenris did not have before.

Thus he finds himself on his way to the Darktown clinic, at Hawke’s behest. It was either go himself or be dragged there and Fenris prefers not to suffer such indignity. Hopefully, Hawke’s absence will deter the need for idle chitchat and Fenris can be on his way again in no time.

Hinges creak as Fenris pushes at the door. So loose is the bottom hinge that the edge scrapes through the dirt in protest, but the sound is lost amongst the drone of a room full of weary patients. The mage rushes among them, the feathers of his coat ruffling at his shoulders. He works from patient to patient, taking no breaks, and Fenris settles himself in a chair to watch and wait in silence. The mage’s skin is pale and his cheeks are more gaunt than usual and Fenris wonders when he has last slept, or eaten.

_Fasta vass_ , he curses under his breath. He cares not what the mage does.

At that moment, the mage notices him, his eyes darting past Fenris’s shoulder, no doubt looking for Hawke. He frowns when it’s clear that Fenris is here alone but, before he can query as to why, a woman hurries through the door clutching a small child to her breast. Directing them to the far end of the room where an empty table waits, he crouches down, murmuring to the child with a kind smile—or what Fenris _would_ call a kind smile if he didn’t know the truth of what lurked beneath the mage’s skin.

When the mage begins his healing spell on the young boy, the lyrium in Fenris’s skin sings. The feeling catches him off guard and he clutches at the chair he sits in, gauntlets gouging long claw marks into the wood. He knows the touch of the abomination’s magic, has received healing in the thick of battle before and accepted it with reluctant thanks. But he’s never been in close proximity without the adrenaline rush of combat flowing through his veins.

No one notices his discomfort and the moment passes, the lyrium quieting to a dull hum.

Sweat begins to drip down the mage’s face and his skin pales even further, but he persists, closing his eyes and Fenris can see the tightness of his jaw from across the room. The mother’s sobs rise and she clutches at the boy’s hand. Finally, Anders staggers back, opening his eyes to share a tired smile with the woman. She stares at him in open wonder and begins to cry as the boy sits up, color pinking his cheeks. ‘Thank you, thank you’, Fenris hears her sob and she crushes the boy to her chest again, one hand reaching out for the mage and giving his fingers a squeeze.

When they leave, the clinic falls to blessed silence and the mage collapses in a chair, eyes closed again as he sucks in deep breaths. Suddenly, his chin raises a fraction from his chest and he peers out from under his brows, honeyed eyes seeking out Fenris at the opposite side of the room.

“You’re bleeding on my floor.”

Fenris scowls.

Anders’s chuckle is laced with weariness. “I meant, you should have said something earlier.” He pushes himself to his feet and magic swirls at his fist as Fenris’s brands begin to pulse.

“No.”

Though he raises a brow, Anders lets his magic dissipate. “I know you despise mages, but don’t be stupid.”

Fenris ignores him and catalogues his wounds, noting that though they are still angry and painful, the bleeding has stopped. That small touch of magic has already taken care of the worst.

“Ugh,” Anders grunts. “This is rather devious of you. Bleed out in my clinic and then have Hawke kill me. And here I thought you preferred the more straightforward solution of ripping out my heart.”

“Quiet, mage. This will do.”

Fenris knows the mage has worked himself almost to collapse when he drops back against the wall rather than argue. His eyes close again and, this close, Fenris can see the bruises beneath them from lack of sleep.

“I assume you have elfroot potions,” he asks.

Anders gestures vaguely to a back corner stocked with a cluttered mishmash of bottles and drying herbs. “Take what you need.”

Fenris cocks his head and stares at the mage, finding himself _wanting_. The strength of it is so sudden and confusing that Fenris jerks his head to look for a desire demon, but none is to be found. They’re still alone and Anders hasn’t moved from his spot on the wall, eyes still closed and oblivious to the inexplicable ache that rocks through Fenris.

Without thinking, he leans forward and kisses Anders. Just a brush of his lips, not even a kiss really. Anders’s eyes snap open and his jaw drops but before he can say anything, Fenris turns and flees back to Hightown, all but forgetting the potions until he is bolted safely back behind the thick walls of his appropriated mansion.


End file.
